


ten minutes from now

by fathomless



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Basically, F/M, Fluff, Meet-Cute, Post-Break Up, and even messier together, nonlinear timeline, they’re both messes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-06 21:47:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17947712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fathomless/pseuds/fathomless
Summary: Over the years, they’d sucked each other dry of the love that once ran rampant through their veins, leaving only pain and resentment in its wake. She couldn’t quit pinpoint when or how it happened, and perhaps that was the worst part.— Moments between Bellamy and Clarke at the beginning, middle, and end of their relationship. Not necessarily in that order.





	ten minutes from now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loverosie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loverosie/gifts).



> For those of you who may have seen it before, this work was lightly inspired by the movie Comet. Also, HAPPY BIRTHDAY MARS!!! This is for you <3
> 
> (In case anyone’s wondering btw, chapter 4 of TTW should be up this weekend. In short, school’s been kicking my ass).

Her pajamas were thin, frayed at the seams, and the light at the end of the aisle seemed to be in a constant state of flickering, making it hard to read the label in hand. She squinted, bringing it closer to her face.

Under normal circumstances, Clarke wouldn’t have bothered coming to a dingy supermarket at the edge of town- on the verge of falling apart- at two in the morning. Yet, after a day she could only classify as one of her worst, she found herself craving ice cream, and the only store that carried her favorite flavor at a less-than-ridiculous price was this one. (Even with its horrible appearance, mostly expired food and less than stellar employees, it still had one redeeming quality). 

She reached into the freezer, propping the door open with her foot, and pulled out what seemed to be the last ice cream container of its kind. The only thing which kept her from yelling in relief was the knowledge that the very scary, very tattooed man at the register would have heard her, and she wasn’t interested in having to explain why she was so ecstatic to come about a carton of ice cream — That, coupled with the time of night, probably would have been enough to earn her a rather strange reputation.

Her relief was short lived as she read the package more carefully, realizing it wasn’t the right flavor after all, but a generic, sugar-free version. The mere fact that it existed was blasphemy, really, and she could feel frustration seeping into her bones at the sight of it. She stomped her foot against the cracked tile, albeit not as hard she could have.

“Of course,” she muttered, biting at the end of her thumb, a bad habit she’d spent years trying to kick with no success. “Of course, the one day I need it and they don’t even have it in stock. Damn it,” she whispered, tilting her head back. “Why me? Why did I have to—”  
The only thing that alerted her of another person’s presence was the sound of their footsteps heavy against the floor, the tossing of a bag into one of the cheap, plastic baskets the store offered in place of shopping carts.

Her voice caught in her throat at the sight of him, tan skin, dark hair in a mess of too-long curls falling over his forehead. He eyed her skeptically, brown eyes intent on her as if he were working up the courage to say something. His mouth twisted upwards, and she could feel her cheeks and neck heat in response.

She walked away before he could say anything in hopes that she wouldn’t humiliate herself even further, and though she didn’t want the knock-off ice cream she’d initially put in her basket, she unhappily hauled it to the only open register anyway, figuring she’d already wasted enough of the worker’s time. There was no line, which she was thankful for considering her current state, and by the time she lifted the container up onto the conveyor belt, it was nearly two-thirty. She figured she’d be lucky to be home and in bed by three. The cashier didn’t say anything, but offered a tight smile, more resembling a grimace. She didn’t blame him, nodding awkwardly in response.

“Even after all that complaining, you bought it anyway, huh?”

She turned at the voice, finding tall, dark and handsome from the ice cream aisle directly behind her, hauling his own items onto the register. He leaned against the side of it, arms crossed over his chest, and only now did she notice his own state of being — tension in his shoulders, defeat, tiredness in his eyes. Even then, she thought he was beautiful, and though she tried not to, she couldn’t help the upwards pull of her lips into a smile. After the day she’d had, she could use a little joy, and he seemed to be offering just that.

“You again?” She questioned playfully despite her current inner turmoil, and he cocked his head to the side, smirking. “Are you aware of your own stalkerish tendencies or do I need to point them out to you?”

“Depends on what tendencies you’ve noticed.” he shrugged. “I have a pretty solid list so far, but you may have picked up on something I haven’t.”

“Very funny,” she said, trying to sound unimpressed but probably failing miserably, if the grin on his face was any indication.

“Your total is $2.59,” the man at the register grunted, causing her to jump slightly, her focus having been settled elsewhere, on a wide grin and freckles dancing across skin. She swallowed, swiping her debit card and waiting for it to prompt her to enter her pass-code.

When she picked up the bag containing her items, she turned back to the man in line, already looking at her expectantly, as if waiting for her to bid him her final goodbye.

“I can, um,” she started, fiddling with her keys in hand. For some reason, she was alight with nervousness. The worst he could say was ‘no,’ right? “I can wait for you, if you’d like?” Then again there were other options such as, ‘Get lost,’ or her personal favorite, ‘No, actually, I’ve got a wife and three kids to get back to at home.’

But when his eyes widened in surprise, a small laugh escaping his smiling lips, she knew his following answer would be none of the above.

“Sure, if you’ve- if you’ve got time.”

“Only if you promise there won’t be any more stalkerish tendencies involved.”

He laughed, pulling out his wallet to hand a crinkled bill to man at the register before turning back to her, three fingers lifted in a sign she distantly recognized.  
“Scout’s honor.”

As they walked side by side into the chill of the late night air, stars illuminating the sky above them in the otherwise dim parking lot, Clarke figured that maybe the past twenty four hours hadn’t been so bad after all — out of it seemed to have come at least one good thing. Awkwardly, the two stopped at the edge of the curb before sitting down, disregarding how the dirt and other debris on the concrete might dirty their clothes.

“I’m Bellamy, by the way. Bellamy Blake,” he turned to her, sticking out a hand, and she obliged. His skin was warm, his hand engulfing hers almost completely, but all she could focus on was the way her body seemed to spark at his touch, as if they were made to set one another alight.

“Clarke Griffin,” she replied, soft, before realizing she was still grasping onto his hand for what seemed to be dear life. He didn’t seemed bothered by it, though. They weren’t shaking hands anymore, their arms hanging limply between them, fingers intertwined. Clarke couldn’t say she minded, either. “What’s your story?”

“My story?” he asked, hoping for further elaboration. “We might be here for a while,” he cringed, and she knew the pain, the tension she could see in him earlier hadn’t been a mistake, no matter what it might be attributed to.

“No, I mean, what brings you to this dump at two in the morning?” she wondered, since she couldn’t pick anything of value out of the groceries she’d spotted in his basket earlier. “Because if we’re swapping entire life stories with one another, I’m sure we’ll be here all night.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he muttered, shrugging. “Meant to pick up a few groceries earlier in the day, but didn’t get around to it, so I figured I might as well get it over with.” he paused, tapping an offbeat rhythm against his thigh. She ran her thumb along the back of his hand, causing him to turn to look at her. “What about you?”

“Do you want the long version or the short one?”

“Doesn’t matter, I’ve got time.”

“I had a job interview today for the first time in… months, really, but not only was the boss a misogynistic piece of shit, they had already filled in the position and neglected to tell me. I ended up with half my day wasted and still no job.” She didn’t want to feel bad for herself, really, but hearing the events of her day voiced aloud... it didn’t exactly make her feel good. Bellamy stayed silent, listening, his face showing no signs of pity, which she was grateful for.

“Then I, um,” she wasn’t sure whether sharing her mommy issues with him would be oversharing, whether it would be enough to scare him off. She didn’t know him very well, no, but she didn’t want him to leave. Not yet. “I don’t have the best relationship with my mom,” she settled for. “She called me today for the first time in months, and it was just weird, I guess. Stressful.”

He hummed, raking a hand through his unruly hair. “I get it,” he assured her, clearing his throat. She noticed, for the first time, he was nervous, hand scratching at the back of his neck, and for some reason, she wanted to reach out to him. It was funny — She had only met him minutes ago, and yet, she wanted to protect him, wanted to take his hand in hers to stop the mindless fiddling he was doing, if only it would bring him comfort. “After she graduated high school a few years ago, my sister packed up and left, took off with her boyfriend that’s nearly a decade older than her. She’s only spoken to me two… maybe three times since, and even then, those were either birthdays or other holidays where she felt like she had to.”

Her heart clenched, and she reached out for him, taking his hand in hers. It was a simple gesture, but the way the tension he carried seemed to dissipate- even if only slightly- she knew he appreciated it.

“You don’t deserve that,” she whispered, and he merely huffed in response, head falling forward in defeat.

“You don’t even know me, Clarke.”

“You’re right,” she said, the words heavy on her tongue for reasons she couldn’t quite grasp. “But I know that nobody deserves to be abandoned by someone they love,” she whispered, “and from what I’ve seen, I’d say she’s missing out on a pretty great person.”

 _"Great,”_ he huffed, sounding defeated. “If I were so great, she wouldn’t have left in the first place.”

“I don’t know the whole story,” she swallowed, “obviously, but I know that her leaving isn’t your fault. No matter what you say, that’s on her.”

He was quiet, taking in her words, and for a moment, she thought maybe she had said something wrong, maybe she’d crossed a line. When he looked up, eyes shimmering in the light downcast from the stars and moon above, the barely lit lamppost in the parking lost, she knew it wasn’t that she’d said the wrong thing. His lips twisted into a half-smile, and she knew suddenly it was that she’d said words that were all too right. It made her wonder if maybe she’d helped to heal even the smallest of cracks in his fractured soul. She didn’t know him, but she wanted to reach out, wanted to make him feel better — _happy._

Her own soul ached for it.

“Thank you, Clarke,” he said, voice heartbreakingly soft, thankful. “I don’t exactly know what’s going on with your mom, either, but whatever it is, she’s your mom. Hopefully one day you work things out, but if you don’t... that’s her loss.” He clasped his free hand over top of hers, encompassing it entirely. “Before you try to tell me I’m wrong, or correct me, you’re pretty great, too. I don’t have to know anything else about you to know that much.”

Though she’d only known him for the past half hour and knew she needed to get home otherwise her ice cream would be melted and her entire trip rendered pointless, she longed to stay with him, body protesting the mere thought of walking away, never to see him again. With a gentle smile tossed in his direction, eyes threatening tears no matter how ridiculous it felt, she bid him goodnight, and was glad to see he didn’t appear any less distraught by their separation. She couldn’t turn around though, couldn’t force herself to ask him for his number or tell him how insanely attached she already felt to him for fear of how he may react.

She nearly burst with relief when he stopped her in her tracks, fingers clasping her wrist as if to keep her in place. If anything, she’d have one more moment with him, maybe a simple, 'Nice to meet you,' or, 'Hey, you forgot your keys.' Instead, his words were much more promising, spreading joy throughout her, a feeling she almost had trouble identifying it had been so long.

“I don’t really know how to do this,” he started, hand clasping at the back of his neck, voice wracked with nerves, as though fearful of her response. “or what you’ll say, but I can’t… I’d like to see you again,” he clarified, and she figured perhaps her responding smile, cheeks aching with the force of it, was enough of an answer.

“I’d really like that,” she told him, and when he removed his phone from his pocket, she said, “Clarke with an ‘e’ at the end,” and proceeded to tell him her number. It was only when he tried to do the same that she realized she’d mistakenly left her phone at home.

“I should have a marker or something to write with in my car, I think,” he offered, “I can go grab it.”

He only parked two spaces from the front of the parking lot, and when he returned, he took her hand in his, flipping it over so he could write his name and number on the back of it, barely able to fit it all. The acrid smell of Sharpie filled her nostrils, but she’d never been so overjoyed to smell it, and his hair obscured his face as he bent down, bringing himself closer to her hand to properly see.

“There,” he said, thumb tracing the newly marked numbers on her skin. “Goodnight, Clarke,” he breathed, and though it felt like a goodbye, she knew she’d see him again, and the thought alone was more than enough to comfort her.

“Goodnight, Bellamy.”

Her mind ran rampant over the next few days, and by the time she worked up the courage to message him, the mark of his number on her hand was nearly faded to nothing, smudged numbers against pale skin.

_Hey Bellamy, it’s Clarke. Remember me, supermarket girl?_

And though the numbers had all but went away, somehow, the image of his smile in her mind was still as vibrant as it was the very first night she witnessed it.  
It only took a few minutes for his response to ring through, and the smile stretched across her face would have been embarrassing had anyone else been around to witness.

_Ah, so that’s what you’re calling yourself now? Nice._

_Can I call you?_

When the phone rang, she picked it up with almost lightning speed.

* * *

“Hello?”

_"Clarke.”_

All he had to say was her name, bathed in love and heartbreak all the same, and she was a goner, but she couldn’t make the fact known to him — She could never live it down.

“I told you the other day, Bellamy, I’m done.” When she sensed him beginning to speak, she continued, “I told you last week, I told you the day before yesterday, I told you today…” she trailed off.

“Please, just listen to me.”

“I did, and it didn’t change anything.”

Her heart ached with each word, longed to make things better, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. (She couldn’t bring herself to admit defeat, to admit that he was right all along).

“I’m outside in a fucking downpour right now, you know. I figured that, maybe… you’d meet me here, I guess. Fuck, Clarke,” she could picture him right now, hand scrubbing down his face in frustration, drenched from head to toe, and she’d never felt so awful. “I don’t know.”

“Bellamy, I,” she swallowed, fighting back the tears. Her voice was quiet, unsure, and she couldn’t remember a time where she’d ever felt so uncomfortable speaking to him. They were Clarke and Bellamy, comfort between them was a given. Around him, she’d always felt comfortable — In her words, in her actions, in her entire being. Yet it was no surprise to her that this concept wasn’t the same anymore considering how foreign everything else felt, too. “I don’t know what you want me to say.

His end of the line was quiet for a moment, until he whispered, “I want you to say that you’re with me, Clarke. That you’re willing to work with me, to fight for this. I can’t … I’m not ready to let you go, and maybe that’s selfish of me, but God, Clarke, I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

 _I know,_ her mind told her to say. _I can’t imagine mine without you, either,_ it begged. _I love you more than I ever imagined it was possible to love someone._ _Loved,_ her mind reminded her. _Loved you._

“Maybe you should try.” The words felt wrong leaving her mouth, her tongue dry, eyes wet with tears she hadn’t realized she’d begun to shed.

 _Please don’t,_ her heart pleaded. _Please do anything but try._

She fiddled with the charm bracelet on her wrist, willing the tears to go away. The chain was faded to a dull silver, scratched with markings from times she’d banged it against the door-frame, or dropped it without realizing — A trinket that held no real monetary value but which she claimed was priceless, if only because it reminded her of Bellamy each time she glanced down at it, each time she heard the familiar jingle of its charms against one another.

It had been a twenty-third birthday present from him, clasped to her wrist with a kiss on the cheek and an _I know it’s not much._ He may not have voiced it then, too insecure, too afraid of what might happen if he did, but she knew by the melancholic tone of his voice he wasn’t only referring to the bracelet on her wrist. _It’s more than enough,_ she’d whispered against the skin of his neck, hoping he understood.

(The rest of the night consisted of reverent _I love you_ s and sweat-slicked bodies as they got lost in the familiar rush of being with one another. Long before they knew where they were headed,  before the world decided to crush them beneath its fingertips; before they crushed each other).

“Clarke…” his voice cracked despite the single syllable, as if he had trouble getting it out, and she ached to go to him, exactly like he’d hoped she would. His next words were enough to knock the air out of her lungs, and she swallowed hard around the grief of it all. “I don’t want to.”

When she finally found it within her to speak again, her words were weak, and she hoped he couldn’t tell. “You and I both know we weren’t happy.” She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose to ward of the headache she knew was coming. “If we try again, it’ll be the same thing it’s been for the past six months. I feel like all we do is hurt each other anymore, Bell… I’m tired of hurting you.”

“I know,” he agreed, unsteady. “If we could just talk about this in person, I feel like it would-”

“Not right now.” _Maybe it came off as too harsh, maybe he thought she wasn’t being reasonable._ If they talked right now, she knew she wouldn’t be able to turn him away. They would fall right back into each other, a revelation which wasn’t all that surprising, really. He’d always been her weakness, and it was no secret she was his. It was one of the many reasons they couldn’t work any longer, in the grand scheme of things.

Their love, in the beginning, was born out of heady want, a draw to one another. Desire causing an ache in their chests. What Clarke felt for him was all-consuming, unlike anything she had felt before. Somehow, along the way, it evolved, in the way that most things do. Maybe it was because of their dependence which began to verge on unhealthy, or maybe it was due to their loneliness, their constant reliance. Their broken relationships with others somehow felt irrelevant in comparison to the scale at which they rated their own.

In the midst of it all, their love turned into a need, a necessity. But it wasn’t like oxygen renewed by the leaves of trees around them — It ran out.

Over the years, they’d sucked each other dry of the love that once ran rampant through their veins, leaving only pain and resentment in its wake. She couldn’t quite pinpoint when or how it happened, and perhaps that was the worst part.

“I can’t,” she lamented, hoping he would try to understand.

“Well, you need to,” he said. “I don’t plan on standing around out here all day.”

“Bellamy, what do you-”

A heavy knock on their- her- door sounded throughout the apartment, and she startled slightly, nearly dropping the phone. She didn’t need to ask to know who it was.  
With a heavy breath and silent prayer hoping she didn’t look too worse for wear, make-up likely smeared down her face, she put her hand on the knob.

* * *

As she pulled the door open, revealing him, the smile on his face was nothing short of overjoyed, hair a mess from the wind outside- ridiculous as it always seemed to be this time of year- and a bouquet of some of the most vibrant flowers she’d ever lay eyes on.

“A little birdie told me someone here’s got a new job,” he said, pretending to look behind her for who he was referring to. “Now I’m not totally sure who, but …”  
Despite how silly it was, she couldn’t help but play along herself.

“You might have the wrong address, actually, it might be the apartment over?” she tried to appear nonchalant about it, but having to bite her lip nearly hard enough to draw blood in order to tamper down her smile wasn’t exactly helping.

“Nice,” he smiled, shifting the bag in the hand not holding the flowers. “You actually played along this time.”

“I’m in a good mood,” she provided.

He leaned down to kiss her then, short and sweet, lips chapped from the cold. (She didn’t mind). When they pulled apart, he moved to kiss her cheek, brushing a stray hair away from her forehead, and the look on his face was gentle enough she felt the sudden urge to cry.

“Congratulations, Baby,” he murmured, and she reached up to pull him into a hug as best as she could with his hands being full. “I knew you’d get it.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” she whispered against the collar of his sweater, and he pulled back to look at her, brows furrowed.

“Yes you could have.”

“Fine,” she relented. “But you made me feel a lot better about it.” She paused, taking the flowers into her own hands. “These are beautiful.”

“They’re okay,” he said, cheeky, as he followed her through to the kitchen. “Compared to you, they look dull.” As he passed her to grab a plate from the cabinet, he pinched her hip, playful, and she swatted at his hand.

“Someone’s cheesy today.”

As he pulled the contents of the bag sat on the counter into view, she couldn’t help but smile despite feeling bad about the money he’d wasted.

“You didn’t have to get this stuff, Bellamy.” Her arms wrapped around his waist from behind, her head leaning against his shoulder, just barely able to reach.

“I wanted to,” he reasoned. “I figured I could do something nice for you, I don’t know. We haven’t been able to do much lately with everything going on.” He shrugged. “It’s probably stupid, huh?”

“It’s not.” Her lips pressed against the side of his neck as she stood on the tips of her toes, and she felt his responding shiver. “I love you so much.” The words weren’t loud, but in the space of her kitchen, they seemed deafening to her own ears. Bellamy was quiet for a moment, setting aside the knife in hand, and when he spoke, the words were almost unbelieving, bathed in awe.

“I love you, too.” It wasn’t the first time they’d said the words in the past few months of their relationship, finding it within them both to speak the words fairly early on, and she hoped it would be far from the last. “What do you say we take this,” he motioned to the food on the counter, “in there, and find something to watch since you refuse to let me take you out anywhere else.” She huffed against his back, reluctantly releasing him.

When they were finally settled in on the couch, plates in hand, she glanced over at him, admiring the gentle way in which he smiled at each one-liner uttered from the characters on the show, and relented. “I won’t let you take me out anywhere nice because I don’t need it,” she whispered. “I’d have dinner in the shittiest place on Earth if you were the one sitting across from me.”

Her heart raced at the sight of his responding grin, the same way it had the first night she’d met him. She’d learned, over the months, it didn’t matter how much time she spent with him, or how used she was to his presence; she wasn’t quite sure she’d ever grow used to the idea of him being hers, that she’d ever feel she was deserving it. But she figured that, maybe, it didn’t matter.

“And I’d happily be right there with you.”

“You practically have been already, remember?” she asked, leaning heavily into him.

“Funny,” he deadpanned, “but you’re not wrong.” With a smile, he lifted his fork, offering her a bite of the cheesecake from his plate. She hummed in content, happily accepting it, and leaned up to kiss his temple.

* * *

“Okay,” she relented, bringing a hand to her mouth to cover her chewing. “At least they have the cheesecake going for them. The gelato, on the other hand, isn’t that great.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Neither is anything else we’ve had.”

The restaurant was nearly empty, save for an older couple sat near the doors, and music played quietly through the speakers above. It had a nice ambiance to it, calming, and though the food wasn’t completely edible, and the service was all but none, Clarke had a nice time. Though that could probably have been contributed to the man sat across from her more than the restaurant itself.

“What are you staring at?” she asked, shy under his gaze, not yet quite able to grow completely used to it. He smirked, reaching out for her hand.

“You just look… beautiful,” he finished lamely, and she could’ve sworn she noticed a hint of red beneath the smattering of freckles across his skin. She figured her own face was flushed through and through, likely trailing down her neck at his words. “What did I do to deserve you, huh?”

She swallowed, fingers squeezing at his, and the only way to describe the look on his face, eyes intent on her, was that of pure adoration. It made her feel inadequate, really, but she ignored it, pushing the feeling down and allowing it to be replaced by her own adoration.

“It’s definitely me working to deserve you,” she corrected him, and suddenly the table between them was frustrating, suffocating. Before he could respond, she grabbed her wallet, tugging on his hand. “What do you say we get out of here?” His eyes widened at the familiar implication of her words, smile growing, and suddenly, as if he couldn’t wait any longer, he was tugging her up from her chair, a steady hand resting at the small of her back.                                  

They paid their bill, remembering to leave a tip no matter how bad the service might have been, and linked hands as they stepped out into the humid air of the midsummer night. Small talk was easy, as it always was, and lapses of silence were comfortable as they migrated closer to one another.

It wasn’t long before they reached his apartment and she found herself being pulled inside, a split second between him pulling her close, cradling her face with the most gentle touch only he could execute, and leaning down to kiss her; merciful and familiar yet fervent all the same, transforming them into a frenzy of kisses and trailing hands.  
He backed them up against the nearest wall and patted her thigh once, twice. It took a moment for her mind to register what he wanted, but as it did, she moved to wrap her legs around his waist, whining when he pulled away, lips making their way down her neck. (No matter how many times he’d done the same thing, how many nights they’d spent wrapped up in the sheets, her body continued to respond by way of goosebumps left in his wake).

Her hand came to caress the back of his head, fingers tangling into the hair at his nape. “God,” he mumbled, teeth grazing her skin, “have I told you how fucking good you look in this dress?”  He rolled his hips into hers, grip on her thigh tight enough to bruise in just the right way, and she gasped, head falling back against the wall.

“Once or twice,” she managed, breathing heavy, and although she would have otherwise been content to let him stay where he was, mouthing at her chest just atop the dip of her dress- quickly moving lower- she couldn’t help but miss the feel of his lips on hers. Using her grip on his hair, other hand moving to cup his cheek, she pulled him up, taking a moment to allow a finger to trace delicately down the side of his face before bringing his lips to hers.

“Love this dress,” he murmured between kisses as his hand slipped beneath it. “Love feeling you.” She probably wouldn’t have noticed his next words had she been any more focused on his hand moving higher up the inside of her thigh, “Love you,” he breathed, and she stilled.

“You what?” she squeaked, eyes wide.

_He didn’t seem phased by it, though._

He smiled, and his hand moved to caress her face as he leaned in close, their noses brushing just barely. She could feel her heart beating a rapid tattoo against her rib cage, any air swept away from her lungs as soon as the words slipped off of his tongue.

Bellamy wasn’t hesitant, nor did his face show any other signs of shock. He was confident, hopeful- and apparently- in love. “I love you, Clarke,” he breathed, voice rough, and she would’ve been happy to hear him utter the words every minute of every day for the rest of her life, if possible. Her chest filled with something so unfamiliar she was taken aback, and though she longed to hear him repeat it, all she could bring herself to do was kiss him again, chaste and sweet compared to their previous ones.

Something shifted between them then, she knew, and though she also knew he wasn’t expecting anything back- that he would’ve been fine with her not saying anything at all- she found the words flowing upwards from deep within her, coming to rest just on the tip of her tongue, begging for escape.

_She decided to set them free._

“I love you, too.”

* * *

“I can’t even stand being around you right now,” Clarke seethed, pulling frustratedly at the earrings she’d worn for the night.

“Why don’t you go hang out with Niylah then?” He gestured wildly at the building they’d just left, hurt evident on his face. “It’s obviously where you’d prefer to be.”

_Of course._

Bellamy had always allowed his anger, his feelings to get the best of him, and though it was something she admired about him, it also drove her mad. Her eyes filled with tears, and she resisted the urge to childishly stomp her foot against the ground.

“You know that’s not true.” Yet something in the back of her mind told her that it was, that she was so tired of their constant arguing she would rather be anywhere else — with anyone else. He only shook his head, eyes glinting under the streetlight above them. “I don’t get why you let yourself get worked up like this,” she muttered, wrenching open the car door and slipping inside.

“Clarke… I see how you look at me, and it’s- it’s not the same as it used to be,” he swallowed, putting the key into the ignition before slumping back in his seat. “But then I see you with her, and you’re always smiling and laughing, and I just-”

She buried her face in her hands, exasperated, before turning to look at him.

“I would never even _think_ about cheating on you, Bellamy,” she said, forcing out her next words. “I love you.”

“I didn’t mean physically cheating.”

Clarke swallowed around the guilt at his words.

She’d met Niylah when they were assigned to partner up for a project, as requested by her boss, and through late nights and too many frustrations to count, they’d forged a friendship, which Clarke hadn’t truly experienced for a long time. As sad as it was, for most of their relationship, with the absence of her mother and all of the bridges she’d burned with the people she once called friends, Bellamy was all she had.

When they fought, she went to Niylah for advice.

When he made her angry, she immediately messaged Niylah to rant about whatever it was he had done.

Somewhere along the way, meaningful conversations between herself and Bellamy stopped, as if the connection had been severed, and she wasn’t sure how to fix it, how to get back what they’d once had no matter how hard she grasped at it, how much she longed to have it back. Growing close to someone else… it only worsened what had already began to fall apart, even if her feelings for Niylah didn’t extend into romantic territory.

The car ride home was silent, more so than it had been in all of the years they’d been together. Yet, unlike nearly every other time, this silence wasn’t comfortable, wasn’t able to be basked in. Clarke longed to run from it, to get away from… him?

No, not him.

* * *

“You can’t run from this, Clarke,” he said, slamming the door behind him.

“I’m not running from anything,” she reasoned, wiping at the tears that had been trailing steadily down her face since the start of their conversation.

“You’re running from _me,”_ his voice broke as he scrambled to grasp at her wrist, keeping her in place. “Please…”

When she looked at him, she could almost see _him_ — the man she’d fallen in love with. The one who showered her with all his time and affection, whose face lit up at the mere sight of her. The one who tucked her in and held her close and made sure she knew how loved she was no matter how much she doubted it, who woke her from nightmares she had of the people she’d lost (Her dad, her best friend. Her mom, even if not in the same way) and assured her none of it was real.

The same one she’d hug after he’d had a long day at work. The one she clung to in the nights where it seemed too hard to do anything else, the one she hummed to, raking her fingernails through his hair with his head rested on her chest when he needed to be comforted, trapped by harrowing thoughts of his sister.

The one she’d given her heart and soul to, swapped in exchange for his.

The thought alone was enough for her to break even further, and in an instant he’d wrapped her in his arms. She clung to him. No matter how upset she was or how she sometimes longed to be away from him, she would always long to have him close more, and maybe that was her downfall.

Though she knew they were near their end, the thought merely made her embrace him tighter.

* * *

They’d been together for six years when they finally called it quits, and though they both knew it was coming- and had been for along time- it didn’t make it hurt any less. Clarke wasn’t sure she could, but somehow, she learned to live without him, tried her best to revert back to how life was prior to the first night at that dingy old supermarket.  
Even now, as she strolled down the aisles adjacent to the one in which they met, she was struggling to get him off her mind, and she hated it.

The tiles were even more cracked now than they had been that night years ago, lights slightly brighter with the replacement of their bulbs due to new management taking over, although it still didn’t do much to improve the place.

She walked around a half set-up display before turning down the nearest aisle, preoccupied with the list in her hand. Making a list at this point didn’t make any sense, not really, since she bought the same items each time she shopped. But she did it, anyway, in hopes it would keep her from picking up anything she used to buy solely for him.

“Damn it.”

Glancing up, she stopped in her tracks, throat tightening at the sight in front of her.

“Bellamy?”

He was reaching into one of the freezers, standing on the tips of his toes to grab an item in the back, and when he turned around, eyes wide, her gaze was instantly drawn to the container in his hand.

“You don’t even like that flavor,” she whispered, unsure of whether she’d be able to get the words out if she spoke any louder. “It’s-”

“Your favorite,” he said, clutching at it still. “I know,” and he looked embarrassed, ashamed even. She could feel her hands shaking where they sat at her sides.

“Yeah,” she said, sounding in awe, and the corner of his mouth quirked up. “My favorite.”

“I did buy it for you for six years. It’s something I would know.” He shrugged, and she couldn’t help but take a step closer to him. “One question, though.”  
Her stomach dropped at his words, but she knew by the way he cocked his head to the side, smile stretching across his face, she had nothing to fear.

“Yes?”

“Does this mean you’re the one doing the stalking now?”

Clarke smiled, and though she felt the urge to duck her head in embarrassment, all she could do was look at the man she once loved- the man she somehow loved, even still- and think that maybe now was a second chance, a fresh start; that maybe they could mend the problems they’d been so blind to before.

*

(If only she knew the joy she would feel ten minutes from now as they sat on the curb outside, reminiscing old memories while aiming for memories anew).


End file.
